Often I think about being in the tension between what I genuinely feel is right and what the truth tells me is right. I feel this most often when I am trying to do something new, something I feel called to, something that propels me forward. When I feel this, I usually start to turn into myself and assess “what will happen if I actually do what I want to do.” Right now that has meant moving to a new state and, instead of immediately finding a career, turning back the clock and working as a barista. Right now that means writing my thoughts privately because the anxiety of writing them publicly is crippling and often means that I have to admit that I have a desire to be seen and heard at the most fundamental level.
That anxiety usually stems from the idea of what I see as the eventual consequences of being forthcoming and transparent. I have the deep fear that the people who love me are looking for reasons to stop loving me, despite having no evidence to support that. I also have this idea that God is waiting for me to fall so he can finally give up on me and focus on the good Christian girls that are out there. All of my anxieties stem from this idea that being open and honest will leave me lonely and broken.
That tension is difficult to move through. Last year, when my friend Malcolm presented his piece “Let the Sun Set on You,” he asked us all to write a letter to a young Black kid. He didn’t specify if that child was your own child or possibly just a child on the street. In the letter I so clearly remember writing that I want to focus on love as opposed to fear. I’ve written about that here before, the idea that our ancestors are so afraid of the world that they teach us how to act in it in fear that we may die without their guidance. I recently wrote him a letter and said that maybe I should extend that level of grace and gratitude to myself.
I think a lot, I dream a lot and I see a world that is so drastically from what is right now that I feel crushed under the weight of the present, like most people. But the thing is that weight is what birth us to be our best. When I think of Baldwin, Butler or even Adiche, I think of them as people who are so firmly rooted in the truth of their time that they could not exist in any other time. That’s true for all of us.
So as I’m living in this tension I want to use this space to create what I want to see in the world. When my parents bought me a website when I was 13, I named it “Imani’s Lounge” because I wanted it to be a place where people could relax and see themselves. I’m more sure of that necessity now more than ever. I want to use this space to ask big questions like “why are my politics and my faith always seemingly at odds” or “why am I often urged to leave my racial identity at the door in conversations about God.” But also express small truths like the fact that it’s very difficult to see your future self when the future seems so tenuous or how hard it is to actually take advice from people who are still so rooted in antiquated ideals.
I want to hear from others about their truths and their questions, so if you have some feel free to reach out through a comment here or through various forms of media.
Let’s navigate this tension together.